To the Lost And Found
by Calendulam
Summary: It's been three weeks since the creatures began taking over and Blaine is all alone and injured. Rescue comes by way of three unusual warriors. Written for zombie apocalypse!Klaine at Klaine AU Fridays.


So, here's the first part of my zombie apocalypse!Klaine (with bonus Brittana!) for Klaine AU Fridays. I'm working on the next part. Hopefully I'll have it finished by early next week. You can find me on tumblr (the-water-nixie). I'll be posting it there first. :)

Warnings for zombie related violence. Obviously I don't own Glee!

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Blaine could see half of the street from his bedroom window. He tried not to look out too often; the over-long grass of the lawns and the utter stillness of the houses depressed him, frightened him. He was just waiting for one of them to come for him; it was only a matter of time. They would find him as they must have found all of the others. He longed for that inevitability almost as much as he feared it. He was tired of being alone. And so he sat and tried not to watch and waited to heal and listened. He always listened.

It had been eleven days since he had last seen any sort of someone. It had been one of _them_ and it had chased him and he had hurt his ankle rushing back into the house. Eleven days. And then from nothing but the wind and his neighbour's chimes, he heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. He hobbled to his window.

The vehicle had already stopped in his driveway by the time he reached his lookout. He could make out only one side of it – something large and black and coated with dust. He could hear clattering and low voices and footsteps on the concrete. Figures emerged and ran around to the back of the vehicle. There were flashes of red and white, and blond hair swinging in the breeze. He heard a snort of laughter and the clanking and crunching as these someones broke in through the front door of his house. He didn't even care. They weren't the others, they were still human. Warm, full of life and the ability to laugh and speak and walk and drive. Drive away and take him with them. He sucked in a breath and wiped the hot tears from his cheeks before limping away from his window, out the door and down the stairs.

They'd just broken through the door when he reached the bottom. He cursed under his breath; he'd been too slow. How would he be able to stay in the house now? Those things weren't smart enough to break locks, but surely they could push open an unlocked door. But maybe, he thought, just maybe he would be able to leave his house finally. Maybe he would be able to get away with these strangers.

There were two girls wearing matching outfits – red and white cheerleaders' uniforms both stained with dark brown splatters of dried blood. The tall blond one was carrying the largest knife Blaine had ever seen in one hand, and what appeared to be a wooden paddle in the other. The shorter girl had dark hair and her intelligent eyes took in her new surroundings with a practised air. Across her back were slung two large, crisscrossing guns. "Hopefully we're far enough from town that there's still water," she said to someone behind her. "I need a goddamn shower. I can't believe you dragged us to Evergreen, Ladyface. I told you there'd be zombies everywhere. It was too heavily populated."

"I'm not going to apologize, Santana. We had to check. We couldn't _not_ look for Tina." The voice was high, but definitely male.

The dark haired girl, Santana, rolled her eyes and took a step further into the entryway. "I wonder if these rich people have anything good to eat."

Blaine felt that maybe that was his cue and stepped out of the shadows. "There's not a whole lot left, unfortunately. I've eaten most everything."

And he was suddenly at the bad end of two guns and a very frightening knife. He put up his hands and opened his mouth to try to speak but no sound left his lips. What could he say? Surely they could tell that he wasn't one of _them_. The fact that he could carry on a coherent conversation should have been their first clue.

One of the guns lowered and the third person pushed himself out between the two blood-stained cheerleaders. "You're not a zombie."

"No." Blaine's voice cracked over the word.

The boy in front of him heaved a sigh and slid his handgun back into the holster on his belt. The semi-automatic and the knife lowered slowly behind him.

"I'm sorry we broke into your house," the boy said. "I didn't expect – Well, we haven't come across anyone in a while."

"I'm relieved, I... I haven't seen anyone in... I think it's been three weeks. Since my parents left for work and never came home." He swayed a little on the spot, his head light and his ankle hurting. "My name's Blaine."

"I'm Kurt," the boy said. "And this is Santana and Brittany."

"I'm sorry your parents probably got eaten by zombies," Brittany said. Santana shook her head.

"How come you stuck around here?" Santana asked, still watching Brittany out of the corner of her eye.

"I don't have a car. My parents – they took them both. I was going to leave one day, I'd gotten fed up, but when I went next door to try and steal my neighbour's car, my neighbour was there. And, well, he wasn't exactly my neighbour anymore. He chased me. I hurt my ankle getting back inside." He held out his swollen foot, still sore and red and not looking like it was going to heal anytime soon.

Kurt stepped forward and kneeled on the floor at his feet. "Do you think it's broken?"

His eyes were large and blue and full of sympathy and it made Blaine want to burst into tears. He had been at the end of his rope. He didn't know how much longer he could hold on, having no one to speak to, having no one to sit with and just _be_. Worrying that he would be alone until everything eventually ended. And now – now he was looking down at the most beautiful guy he had ever seen and he _cared_ and Blaine had to swallow the lump that was forming in his throat before trying to answer. He shook his head. "I can move my toes and foot a little. It hurts, but... I sprained it once before. I think it's the same." After being pushed over and stomped on and kicked until he was bleeding and unconscious, but Kurt and his zombie-killing cheerleaders didn't need to know that.

Kurt nodded and studied Blaine's ankle. "Can I?" he asked and motioned to it. Blaine nodded again and lifted his injured foot. Kurt barely touched him as he examined it, very gently moving the foot back and forth and running his cool fingers over the bruise and around the anklebone."It should be wrapped," he said. "Do you have anything?" Blaine shook his head and Kurt stood up and turned to face the girls.

"I'll go," Brittany said. "The first aid kit's in the back, right?"

Kurt nodded. "Be careful, Britts."

"Aye, aye, Captain Unicorn!" she called over her shoulder and Santana snorted a laugh.

Blaine rested against the wall. What he really wanted, really needed, was to sit down. His ankle had begun throbbing again and he felt woozy from the pain and the shock of people, _people_ in his house. Even if they didn't turn out to be the rescue he hoped they would be, he was so jubilant to have someone to talk to again he wanted to jump and dance around. He looked down at his red and purple foot and sighed.

"That's what you think!" Brittany exclaimed from outside, and Blaine hobbled after Kurt and Santana as they rushed to the still open door.

Blaine's neighbour was there – whatever was left of him anyway – a snarling, drooling creature with basic motor functions but no higher brain activity, whose only instinct was to kill and eat. Everything was suddenly in slow motion, like a scene in a bad movie where the sound had been sucked out and each frame took an age to play out on screen. He stood in silent terror and watched as the creature who used to be Mr. Snodgrass grabbed hold of Brittany's left shoulder, his eyes rolled up in his head, his mouth lolling open, a beastly growl erupting from his throat. Before the others had a chance to ready their guns, Brittany had unsheathed her long knife. She stabbed Mr. Snodgrass through the roof of the mouth, dislodging his hand from her shoulder, then swung around with the wooden paddle and in one sickening whack, hit the bottom of the knife handle and pounded the blade up and into his brain. He dropped to the pavement, trails of blood leaking from his ears.

"I got the first aid kit," she said happily, and leaned over to retrieve it from next to the body.

Blaine was still shaking when he settled on the sofa with his foot up.

"It's okay," Kurt told him, his voice soothing. "We've gotten pretty adept at..." He let it hang there and began wrapping Blaine's injured foot. Blaine wondered if he, too, could become so quick and merciless, could kill the beings that had once been people's neighbours and friends and family. He knew they weren't any of those things anymore, he knew, but it had still hurt his heart to see Mr. Snodgrass cut down in front of him like that. And he hadn't even liked Mr. Snodgrass very much.

Kurt's deft hands ran over the wrapping, making sure it was tight and even before he tucked in the end piece and clipped it so it wouldn't go anywhere when Blaine moved about. It felt better as he slid it to the floor and put a minute bit of pressure on it, much better cocooned and immovable the way it was.

"Thank you, Kurt," he said. Kurt looked down at the floor and nodded, a light wash of pink staining the apples of his cheeks.

"Do you still have running water?" he asked, and when Blaine answered with an affirmative he wandered off without glancing back in his direction.

"Don't mind him," Santana said from the doorway. She and Brittany came into the room and made themselves comfortable on the love seat. "He's a little standoffish with other guys. He's so used to them being... well, mostly assholes around him because he's so obviously –"

"Gorgeous," Blaine said, cutting across her. He knew all about the way other guys could be. He raised a challenging eyebrow and Santana smirked at him.

"Are you a friend of Dorothy, little Toto?"

"Would it matter to you if I were?"

"Well, seeing as we're the Big Gay Zombie Killing Crew..." She leaned against Brittany's side and twined their fingers together. Brittany bent down automatically to rest her head on Santana's shoulder with a happy little hum.

"Oh... I guess the only thing left is for me to ask to join your posse then."

Brittany sat upright and the demure smile on her face hardened into a scowl. "That's rude," she said. "She just told you that she likes girls and that's what you ask her? That's bullying."

Blaine looked on in confusion as Santana rubbed a placating hand up and down Brittany's arm. "Posse, Britts, not pussy."

Brittany's entire countenance changed, the anger melting from her face and posture. "Oh. Right." She gave Blaine a little smile and shrugged. "Sometimes words confuse me."

Kurt appeared again later while Blaine was making dinner from the pantry's dwindling stocks. He looked fresh and rested, wearing a crisp dress shirt and waistcoat that practically screamed designer and hardly seemed appropriate for killing zombies, but Blaine didn't say a word. He understood the desperate need for normalcy when everything was falling apart so quickly and so thoroughly. He did say something, however, when the girls came into the kitchen freshly showered and wearing clean cheerleaders' uniforms. He was too puzzled not to blurt it out.

"My mother's clothes would probably fit if you want to take them."

Santana looked down at herself and over at Brittany. "Coach Sue says we have to wear our uniform Monday through Friday," Brittany said. "It's good for team unity and makes sure the plebeians know where they stand with us."

Santana lifted Brittany's hand and landed a peck on her knuckles before dropping it and turning towards the window. Blaine swore he saw tears shining in her eyes, but he already knew her enough to know not to say a word about it.

They barricaded the door before going to bed.

With Santana and Brittany ensconced in the master bedroom's king, Blaine headed for his own room, Kurt following after to check on his ankle. When he got the okay from Kurt, he pulled the blankets up over himself. Kurt smiled and stood up and made to leave for the guest room. Blaine hesitated until he was at the door, his long fingers wrapped around the frame.

"Will you stay? I've been here alone for so long..." At Kurt's reluctant expression Blaine shook his head and looked away. "I'm sorry. I'm just really terrified I'm going to wake up and you'll be gone." He felt the mattress dip as Kurt sat down next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, we're not gonna leave you. I promise. We would never, ever do that." Blaine nodded and snuggled in under his blankets, closing his eyes as Kurt got up from the bed once again. His eyes flew open as the bed shifted and Kurt crawled in on the opposite side. "I'll stay. It's safer if we stick together anyway."

After a long, silent moment, Kurt began to speak quietly. "We didn't leave right away because we've been looking everywhere for our family and friends, teachers, anyone. But I watched my stepbrother get ripped to pieces trying to save a friend, and we haven't found anyone else since. No one alive. No one who was still... them. So, Blaine, there is no chance in hell that I will ever leave you here, okay? We found you by a fluke or fate or whatever you want to believe, but we'll stay with you until you've healed and then we'll all move on together."

"Of all the houses on all the streets in all the towns, you broke into mine."

"Did you seriously just bastardize a quote from Casablanca? That's just – That's blasphemy, Blaine."

Blaine found himself chuckling and Kurt swatted him playfully on the arm. The moon was nearly full and there was enough light spilling through Blaine's bedroom window to see by. He lay and watched Kurt's face in the pale glow of moon, his eyes open and staring at the shadow patterns on the ceiling. He really was the loveliest guy – his face angular and sharp, yet beautiful; blue-green eyes titled like a cat, an adorable upturned nose and full, plush looking pink lips. His hair was thick and looked so damn soft, and Blaine was tempted to reach out and thread his fingers through it to see how silky it really was.

"What chance do you think we have?" he found himself asking. He hadn't been focusing on survival, not really, just going through a mundane routine on instinct. But now – now there was a chance of a future with _people_ and Blaine was finally thinking about it. Where they would go and what they would do. How would it work? And could he just stay with Kurt? Because he wanted to. Very, very much.

"I don't know," Kurt was saying, shaking his head. "If we could find somewhere – good soil and water so we could start growing our own food. Then maybe. We need to learn to be completely self-sufficient. I mean, I can make clothes and fix cars, but I know nothing about –"

"I'm a virgin," Blaine said suddenly, covering his mouth a second later when Kurt's eyes widened and he went still. How could he have just blurted it out like that? He had to admit that with everything going on around him, the reality of his virginity had been plaguing him, second only to the thoughts of his parents and brother and their fates. He was a teenaged boy after all. He didn't want to die never having been intimate with another guy. Kurt was still lying motionless with his mouth and eyes round. "I'm sorry. That was –" Blaine turned away and scooted to the edge of the mattress.

All was silent for several long moments and then Kurt was shifting and Blaine felt a warm hand pressed against his back. "It's okay," Kurt whispered.

"I promise that's not why I –"

"I know. It's okay." Kurt's hand rubbed soothing circles into Blaine's back and he hummed something pretty and light under his breath. "I've never even been kissed," he confessed. "Not a kiss that counted, anyway."

Blaine flipped around to face Kurt. He was close, so close, his eyes wide and bright and his lips... As Blaine watched he tugged his bottom lip with his teeth, sucking it into his mouth. "I was kinda hoping for a little romance first, but seeing as it's the end of the world..."

Blaine smiled and cupped a hand around Kurt's cheek. "You mean music and candles and stuff like that? Because I can totally do that," he said.

And Kurt began to laugh, his body quaking and shaking both him and Blaine and the entire bed. He turned his head and pressed his lips to the palm of Blaine's hand. There was a long silence, the two of them lying still staring into each other's eyes. "That's the first time I've laughed since..."

Blaine leaned forward and kissed him.

There were no cliched fireworks like in the movies, but Blaine felt a pleasant fluttering in his gut and an uncontrollable quivering of excitement all over his body. He pressed closer, moving his lips against Kurt's soft ones, a happy little sigh escaping his mouth. Kurt tilted his head, deepening the kiss, taking Blaine's bottom lip into his mouth just as he had done with his own only moments before. Blaine moaned, opening his mouth and felt the soft wetness of Kurt's tongue against his top lip and then his bottom, and then it was there, inside his mouth, licking slowly against his own. He pressed his tongue more firmly against Kurt's, sliding and tasting and Kurt was moaning, too.

"What was that you were saying about not asking me to sleep in here so you could try to get into my pants?"

"Oh my god, I –"

And Kurt was laughing again. "I'm kidding, Blaine." He pushed Blaine's shoulders against the mattress and rolled over on top of him, reconnecting their lips.

There was a strange shuffling noise in the hall. "Do you think the girls are okay?" Blaine asked, pulling away just slightly. He turned an ear towards the door.

"What?" Kurt asked, eyes bleary and dazed.

"There's a noise..."

"Shit!" Kurt's eyes were no longer bleary. He jumped up from the bed and grabbed his guns from the holster that he had stashed on the bedside table.

"Is it them?"

"Stay here, Blaine! You're hurt."

Kurt threw open the door and called out to the girls as he was running through. "I heard it, I heard it!" came Santana's growling voice. "Where the hell were you, Casanova?" There were two gunshots and the sound of a body tumbling down the stairs. "Mackin' on the tiny gay Foundling?"

"Fuck! Britt, don't get so close!" There was running down the stairs and a guttural scream and Blaine didn't even think. He was up and had his fencing rapier in his hand and was out the door before he remembered that he was injured. He gasped in pain but kept on running, muttering _please, please, please_ under his breath as he went.

Kurt was grappling with a large women in a flowered dress. Blaine was about to head in that direction when Kurt pressed the tip of his pistol to her temple and pulled the trigger. She went down hard and he leaped over her, kicking a stocky man in the chest and rapidly firing another bullet into his head. Brittany and Santana were tag teaming a set of blond twins, Brittany attempting to coax one away so Santana could get a clear shot.

Kurt had his situation under control, clocking an old lady in the face before shooting her in the head, so Blaine headed over to Brittany. When she kicked one of the twins to the side, Blaine dove in with his rapier and stabbed, pinning him to the wall.

"Out of the way, Orphan Annie!" Santana yelled and Blaine fell back onto the stairs. A shot rang out, busting through the wall, the zombie slumping forward. The other twin rushed Brittany, Santana growling and jumping it from behind, her weight overbalancing it and sending it flying. Kurt stood above, pistol pointed directly at the back of its head. "Don't move, Santana," he said and fired.

It was mercifully still, no sound but the panting of the four of them. Blaine got up from the stairs and retrieved his rapier, cringing as he pulled it from the body, the slurping noise making him want to retch. He jumped back as the body fell forward, twisting his ankle. As he stumbled, strong arms caught him from behind. "I told you to stay upstairs," Kurt whispered in his ear. "Come on. I'll take a look at it. They're all down. They're all down."

"I heard her scream," Blaine explained.

"I know."

"That's my battle cry," Santana said. Kurt rolled his eyes.

Santana and Brittany joined them in the living room after dragging the bodies away so they could close the front door. They were both splattered with blood, wearing nothing but t-shirts and panties. Kurt was massaging Blaine's ankle tenderly, humming the same quiet tune he had earlier.

"Well, apparently it's not safe to stay here," Santana said, throwing herself into the recliner. Brittany settled on Santana's lap, curling her feet on the chair's arm.

"We're gonna have to move on. We should leave tomorrow. We can sleep in shifts until then and pack the car as a group," Kurt said, still rubbing Blaine's foot as he directed his comments at Santana and Brittany snuggled up on the recliner.

"That's a go for us, Fancy Pants," Santana said and Brittany nodded in agreement, her mouth opening in a tremendous yawn.

"Okay with you, Blaine?" Kurt asked. He was watching Blaine intently, blinking slowly as he ghosted his fingers up and around Blaine's anklebone, no longer putting any pressure on the injury, but merely being soothing.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course." Blaine tried to smile. He knew it would be hard to leave his house, his refuge, with all of its memories and familiarity, but what Kurt and Santana and Brittany offered was so much more important. Companionship and protection and connection to another human being. As Blaine looked into Kurt's kind eyes he knew he was already far, far too attached for only having met him hours before. He would do anything to stay with Kurt for as long as was humanly possible.

The next morning Blaine packed up a small bag of his belongings and carried it down the stairs of his home for the very last time. He didn't take time to mourn or regret, just slipped a single family photo into his messenger bag and strapped his rapier to his hip.

Brittany was organizing what was left of the pantry, Kurt putting everything she deemed necessary into bags. She looked up when Blaine entered the room and smiled. "He's cute," she told Kurt in a low voice. "You should keep him." Kurt ignored her comment and left the room, carrying the bags of food out to the car.

"Is he gonna keep you?" Brittany asked, eyeing Blaine with her head tilted to one side.

"I'm not sure. I've got my fingers crossed."

"No time for girl talk." Santana leaned down and grabbed Blaine's messenger bag, leaving him with his small suitcase. "What the hell..." Blaine reached for the bag, but she was quicker, darting backwards and pulling a bottle from within. "We say take only what you need and you pack an enormous bottle of lube – a literal _vat_ of lube."

"It's not a –"

"I like you, Tiny Gay. You've got your priorities in exactly the right place."

Blaine grabbed the bottle out of her hand as she cackled, bending down to stash it in his suitcase before Kurt came back and got the wrong idea. Or the right one.

It didn't take long for Blaine to get drowsy once they began to drive, his injured foot propped up in Kurt's lap at his insistence. Kurt had one hand on the wheel and the other gently stroking Blaine's ankle, humming his song under his breath. Blaine took a deep breath in and let his eyes fall closed. It was okay to sleep. He was in good hands.


End file.
